You Drive Me Happy

Yesterday morning, I hustled outside with Anna. It was almost 8 o’clock, and I needed to drop my younger daughter off at her before-school child-care program, and then get to work at the library. The morning sun blazed brightly, highlighting the springtime blue wildflowers that had popped up along the driveway.

Anna was stuffing her feet into her sneakers as she walked along the driveway, her backpack and water bottle trailing along behind her.

“Let me help you, honey.”

“No, Moo, I got it.”

I hopped into the driver’s seat, while Anna bounded into the back. We chatted a bit about the day ahead. I don’t remember what either of us said, exactly, but as always, I loved talking with my daughter, and I told her so.

Anna’s response: “Who do you love talking with more—me or Grace?”

“Agh,” I replied, reversing out of the driveway. “I love talking with you both the same, and you know that. Sometimes you drive me…”

“Happy?” Anna interjected.

I glanced in the rearview mirror.

My 9-year-old daughter grinned her trademark grin: toothy, dimpled, impish. “That’s what you were going to say, right, Moo? I drive you happy?”

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “No, that wasn’t what I was going to say, but…it’s true. You drive me happy.”

The past few weeks have been…kind of hectic. So many things—all good things—happened around the same time: Stanton and my 16-year anniversary; Easter; our visit to see family in San Antonio; Grace’s Odyssey of the Mind State Finals in Syracuse, N.Y.

I have really appreciated, then, the little moments that have popped up here and there, like blue wildflowers in springtime. Little moments like “You drive me happy.”

The Sunday that our family drove back home from Syracuse, one of my sweet neighbors invited me to her house to hang out. Technically, the invitation was for “crafts and cocktails,” but I’m the least crafty neighbor on our street, and I was way too tired for anything alcoholic. I wanted to catch up a bit, though.

That afternoon, I walked across the street to my neighbor’s. I joined her and our other neighbor. Their daughters, who are the same age, were playing in the house, and at one point, my neighbor’s husband popped his head into the dining room, where the three of us were, to say hello.

I exhaled. I was so…comfortable. Content.

After spending the past 48 hours at the New York State Fairgrounds, and sleeping in a nice-but-generic Embassy Suites, it felt so good to be home (and I wasn’t even in my home!)… What felt so good was the familiarity. The friendship.

Grateful.

…the little moments that have popped up here and there, like blue wildflowers in springtime.

Grace’s lacrosse season kicked off this past Friday. Anna, as you may remember, plays soccer year-round with a travel team. And Stanton’s men’s soccer team is gearing up for their spring season too.

The other day, Stanton texted me a document, a table with weekend dates through the end of June. “My schedule for soccer,” he wrote. “Love you!”

I love that my husband and daughters enjoy sports. It’s fun, healthy. The various practices, games and related activities can be a bit of a juggle, though.

Tonight, for example, Grace’s lacrosse club has a picnic. Tonight also is the first-ever multicultural potluck at Anna’s elementary school. We have a plan to attend both events, in scattered times.

For the potluck, each family can bring a dish that celebrates their culture. Our family is Italian (my cultural heritage) and Irish (Stanton’s).

I was just about to sign us up to bring pizza (store-bought—not going to lie!) when I saw the many other Italian specialties listed on the RSVP signup: baked ziti, meatballs, bruschetta, stuffed shells. Carbs and all things tomato-based were clearly covered.

I began Googling for Irish recipes.

Somebody else had signed up for soda bread. I wasn’t so sure about making colcannon or corned beef…

Then I stumbled across a dessert recipe: pot o’ gold cups. The recipe called for using box brownie mix to make 12 brownie “cupcakes” topped with whipped cream and candy rainbow belts.

I mean, friends…I always have at least two boxes of Ghirardelli Double Chocolate brownie mix in my pantry.

“This is perfect,” Grace said. “It’s, like…us.”

“One hundred percent,” Stanton agreed; Anna nodded.

While pot o’ gold cups many not be a classic Irish recipe, they’re our new family dessert.

It was fun to discover our family dessert—a new tradition—amidst life’s general craziness lately. Out of nowhere, when I wasn’t expecting it…something exactly right popped up.

You drive me happy.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

Flight Cancelled? The Leddys Don’t Care—We’re Still Coming

The Wednesday morning after Easter, Stanton and I woke up super early. Our family had a 7:35 a.m. flight out of the Albany airport, to visit with Stanton’s mom and other loved ones in San Antonio. We were leaving our home by 5 to get to the airport, park the car, etc.

“Mel, we really could leave at 5:30 and be fine,” Stanton told me the night before.

“Stan…”

“Fine, we’ll leave at 5.”

I like to give us tons of cushion for unforeseen circumstances: long security lines, last-minute gate changes, anything and everything.

I’m a bit (a lot?) of an anxious traveler, especially with two kids. I cope with this travel anxiety by being extremely organized: stuffing protein-rich snacks in my carry-on bag in case we don’t have time during our layover to buy food; filling a Ziploc bag with Band-Aids, Tylenol and other first-aid supplies; and double- and triple-checking the flight reservations.

At 4:30 on Wednesday morning, I finished blow-drying my hair. I had just a few more things to throw in my bag, and then I’d wake up the girls. Things were moving along smoothly…

“Hey, Mel.”

I joined Stanton in his home office, where he was frowning at his phone. He looked up at me.

“I just got a text saying our flight’s been cancelled.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah…it’s so weird, though: This text says our flight from Albany to Syracuse has been cancelled.”

“That’s totally wrong,” I said. We weren’t flying to Syracuse at all; we were flying from Albany to Chicago, then on to San Antonio.

Ding. “Wait…I just got another text.” Again, Stanton frowned at his phone, this time in disbelief. “Now this text is saying our flight is back on—to Syracuse.”

“But we’re not going to Syracuse…!”

“I know…” Stanton called American Airlines to make sense of the texts.

I cope with this travel anxiety by being extremely organized…

In the meantime, I did my best to stay calm. I calmly woke up the girls, told them to get dressed. Calmly finished packing my bag. Calmly rejoined Stanton in his office, where he was talking with an American Airlines customer service representative on speakerphone.

“Are you sure my flight is cancelled?” Stanton was saying.

“Yes, that’s what I’m seeing on my computer screen,” replied the customer service rep. “There might be a weather issue in Albany.”

“I’m in Albany right now, looking out my window, and it isn’t even raining,” Stanton said. He added that he’d just checked the departures page of the Albany airport website, and no other flights scheduled to depart Albany that morning had been cancelled.

I jumped into the conversation: “Hey there, this is Melissa, Stanton’s wife. Are you positive that our flight has been cancelled?”

“Yes, 100 percent. I’m looking at the info on my screen.”

Stanton and I looked at each other. He muted us on the call. “I can’t believe this,” he told me.

“Stan…I don’t believe this.” My travel anxiety was overpowered only by my wariness regarding technology. “Someone, somewhere, pushed the wrong button or something—F4 instead of F3, something like that.” (I do this myself at work sometimes.) “It’s a mistake.”

“Maybe…”

The customer service rep began speaking again: “Folks, would you like me to try to rebook you onto another flight? I possibly could get all four of you on standby for a later flight to San Antonio, via Charlotte, which would get you in around 11 p.m. tonight…”

With our current flight reservations, we were supposed to land in time for lunch with Stanton’s mom, his sister and our niece. “I think we go to the airport, and figure out what’s going on in person,” I said.

Even if our flight was indeed cancelled, I felt that showing up in person, at the American Airlines counter at the airport, and talking with the staff there face-to-face would get us better results than a Q&A with the customer service rep over the phone.

Stanton nodded. “Let’s get to the airport.”

It was now almost 5, almost exactly the time we’d planned to leave for the airport…but the past 30 minutes had felt frenzied and nuts. I checked to make sure I had my driver’s license, but I had the nagging sense I was forgetting something—or multiple things. But we had to go.

Stanton drove to the airport, still on the phone with American Airlines. The customer service rep was conferring with her supervisor about our situation. “I’m driving with my family to the Albany airport now,” Stanton told them. “Please do not cancel our current reservations until I talk to someone at the airport too…”

I glanced in the backseat at the girls. “What do you think, Mom?” Grace asked.

“I think…if our flight really is cancelled, and it’s hard to get four new seats together…I really don’t want to do this, but maybe we split up to get to San Antonio: Dad with one of you, me with the other of you,” I said.

Anna’s eyes bugged out. Grace didn’t look happy either. But she said, “If we have to do that, then I’ll go with you, Mom.”

“Awww…”

“Because you and Anna together would be a disaster.”

Right.

In that moment of early-morning, pre-sunrise darkness—with uncertainty about what awaited us at the airport—the four of us laughed.

Stanton and Grace share many of the same analytical and problem-solving skills, while Anna and I…well, we’re a bit more conversation- and feelings-oriented.

The four of us arrived at the airport. Dashed to the American Airlines counter.

“Good morning,” an attendant greeted us. “Your flight to Chicago, with a final destination to San Antonio, is on time.”

On time. My jaw dropped.

“Someone told us our flight had been cancelled,” I said.

The woman shook her head. “That’s not true.”

“My husband got a text—multiple texts!—saying we were flying to Syracuse instead of Chicago!”

“That’s also wrong.”

Aaaggghhh.

“Mel…it’s OK.” Calmly, Stanton gave the woman our confirmation number. She began printing our boarding passes.

I put a hand to my chest. “I just can’t believe what happened in the past hour…”

“Mom.” The girls brought their fingers to their lips. “You’re being kind of loud.”

Agh.

Ultimately, we got to San Antonio just fine. We had a beautiful visit. Everything ended up working out great.

The message of my story here, though, is this: Technical difficulties can happen, as we all know.

If you ever get a text saying your flight has been cancelled (especially your flight to the wrong destination)…or a customer service rep tells you the same thing, based on “looking at the info on my screen”…don’t necessarily believe any of this information.

If you can, go to the airport and see what’s going on for yourself, in person. Have a conversation.

Even if our flight really had been cancelled…I didn’t care. I just didn’t care, friends.

No matter what, Stanton, the girls and I were flying to San Antonio that day to see our family. In my heart—based on nothing but feelings—I sensed that. All we had to do was get to the airport, and figure it out, face-to-face.

And we did.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

When You’re Offered a Volunteer Opportunity

One day this past week, an email popped into my inbox. The email was from someone I respect, asking if I was interested in joining the board of an organization I also respect.

I was surprised.

Flattered.

Conflicted.

This past week, Stanton was out of town for work Monday through Thursday. He arrived back home just in time for Anna’s elementary-school science fair on Thursday evening. On Wednesday evening, Grace played her cello in a district-wide music performance…which began minutes after Anna’s travel-soccer-team practice ended.

I read this email, then, in the midst of a particularly busy week. The whole week, I dashed from one commitment to the next: school drop-off—work—school pickup—one kid’s after-school activity—the other kid’s after-school activity.

And dentist appointments. The girls also had dentist appointments on Thursday, wedged in between work/school and Anna’s science fair.

And dentist appointments.

I thought about what it would be like, friends, to say yes to this volunteer opportunity.

As many of you know, I already serve on the board of the PTA for Anna’s school. What I most enjoy about this board position is the community-building I get to do.

I love going to the school events the PTA plans—like the science fair this past week, and an ice-skating party and Scholastic book fair a few weeks before that—and welcoming everyone and chatting, making students and their families feel part of the school community. I get a lot of joy and energy from that.

And before the events happen—before the community-building takes place—I handle the communications piece, of spreading the word via mass email, social media and face-to-face conversations. I put what I’ve learned professionally (and what I believe in, personally) into my volunteer-based communications and community-building efforts.

“You must be doing a good job on the school PTA, if people are reaching out about other positions,” a friend said to me.

“But,” another friend wondered, “you don’t hate yourself that much, do you? To keep volunteering for things?”

I began laughing so hard, friends, I almost fell over. It was a valid question, after all.

Did I hate myself that much?

😉

I thought about this potential volunteer opportunity. Another board position, related to community-building and communications. A chance to get more involved in my community.

It probably could work. I probably could do it.

But…ultimately, I didn’t want to add “one more thing” to my life…at least, not right now.

For the first time in a long time, I have a work schedule that is pretty much exactly what I need, and want. I’m so grateful for that, as many of you know.

I so appreciate being able to “be there” when the girls get home from school, and I even appreciate driving them all over creation after school: music performances, soccer practices, science fairs, everything and anything. Even though all that stuff can be exhausting, especially when Stanton isn’t able to pitch in…I actually love it—all of it.

I really missed that for the two and a half years I worked so many evenings and weekends at the library.

Besides the girls (and my husband, too, of course 😉 ), I really appreciate having time at the end of the day for the other important relationships in my life: family members, friends, neighbors who are also friends. When my brothers and sister FaceTime me, or my mom or mother-in-law calls, or my neighbor texts to invite me across the street to get together…I love all of that too.

Also…I need to get a haircut, and I haven’t made an appointment yet. My car is due for its yearly state inspection—that’s another must-do I need to set up. Yesterday was the first day of spring, officially, which means I need to start shaving my legs a little more regularly again because, you know, fewer leggings, more dresses.

So yes, friends…I have unfinished personal business going on too.

As a gift to myself, I had to decline this additional volunteer opportunity, as flattered as I was by it. “Thank you so much for thinking of me, but unfortunately, I can’t add another commitment to my schedule right now,” I emailed the person back. Thankfully, they understood.

Maybe a year or two down the road, I’ll feel as though I can tackle another volunteer opportunity.

As of this moment, though…the only extra thing I’m adding to my to-do list is “shave legs.”

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

I Finally Fell in Love With Romance Novels

Working in circulation services for a public library, much of my professional life involves books.

Lots of books.

Fulfilling book requests for patrons (aka holds). Checking books out (and back in again). Making book recommendations, based on patrons’ interests (one of my favorite parts of my job).

Books also provide the foundation for conversation. While helping patrons find the books they need, I learn about their lives—and about life.

People who borrow stacks of books to read during their upcoming chemo treatments.

Adult learners preparing for their GED tests with study guides.

Kids in search of experiment inspiration for their upcoming school science fair—small business owners checking out “QuickBooks Online for Dummies”—my pearly-haired patrons wondering if we have the large-print version of C.J. Box’s newest mystery yet.

So many examples, so many (true) stories.

My personal life overflows with books too. I’ve written about the many bookcases in my home. I’m a regular at I Love Books, the local bookstore, even though I work in a library. And I do love books.

Except…romance books.

For the first 40 years of my life, I was a snob about romance novels. I’m not proud of this snobbery, friends. But it’s true: For 40 years, I thought romance novels were “less than.”

Nonserious. Kind of ridiculous. Fluff.

Then my neighbors recommended a Netflix TV show to me: “Bridgerton.”

For the first 40 years of my life, I was a snob about romance novels.

Three years after its release, I finally watched “Bridgerton.”

Loved it.

Eventually, I found out “Bridgerton” was based on a series of historical-fiction romance novels by an author named Julia Quinn.

I found the first Bridgerton book, “The Duke and I,” at my library. It was shelved on one of the spinner display racks in the Adult Fiction section, labeled as Paperback Romance with a rose sticker on the spine.

The rose, apparently, symbolized romance.

For the first time in my life, I checked out a romance novel. Then…I read “The Duke and I” in one sitting.

“The Duke and I” was…fun. A really fun—and funny—read.

For those who may not know, the Bridgerton stories center on eight siblings, and their love interests. As the oldest of four siblings myself, I especially loved the siblings’ scenes and interactions with one another—from their bickering to their there-for-you moments. “The Duke and I” was as much a family story as it was a love story.

I began devouring the rest of Quinn’s Bridgerton series.

And I realized something, friends, after reading “The Duke and I”…”The Viscount Who Loved Me”…”An Offer From a Gentleman,” etc., etc….

I realized that I had been missing out.

Due to my literary snobbery, I had been missing out big time.

News articles about the popularity of romance novels abound. “Romance books are on the rise, even as overall book sales are declining,” NPR reported in June 2023. And according to WordsRated, romance is the “highest-earning genre of fiction,” generating more than $1.4 billion.

A recent Quora conversation discussed “why trashy romance novels are so consistently popular.” The reason everyone seemed to agree on: fun escapism.

“Fun escapism” certainly rings true to me.

I’m still a romance-novel newbie. I don’t know all the Avon bestsellers, or Harlequin classics.

So I did a little amour-related research. Specifically, I Googled which romance novels would be good for someone who loved “Bridgerton.”

One author kept getting recommended: Mary Balogh. One of her series, in particular, popped up too: the Bedwyn saga.

In the past few days, I happily read my way through “Slightly Married” and “Slightly Wicked,” the first two books in the Bedwyn saga, which—similar to “Bridgerton”—follow the lives and loves of six Regency-era siblings.

They’re good stories, OK? I do have my standards, after all.

Although…OK, yes, I also recently checked out a rose-labeled paperback entitled “Heiress Gone Wild,” and…the title pretty much sums it up.

“Heiress Gone Wild.” Yeah, if you happen to be at a public library anytime soon, friends, I recommend you use the self-checkout machine for that one.

😉

The truth is…no judgment, really. As one of my colleagues likes to say, it’s good just to read. Read anything.

Although…if I had to say…I do think romance-novel readers probably have more fun.

At least a little more fun, anyway, than the folks paging through “QuickBooks Online for Dummies.”

❤

Photo credit: Netflix/Amazon, via Good Housekeeping

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

Having My First Mammogram On Valentine’s Day

Valentine’s Day means different things to different people.

For some couples, February 14 is a day of Hallmark-endorsed romance: flowers, chocolates, dinner reservations and a table for two. For others…a last-minute dash to the grocery-store greeting-card aisle en route home from work.

Parents of school-aged children often find themselves invited to send in valentines for the whole class—preferably non-edible, but if they are edible, then allergen-free.

Other folks abhor Valentine’s Day, while still others ignore it and/or opt to celebrate a different holiday and sentiment: Galentine’s Day (thank you, Leslie Knope!).

For me this year, 2024, Valentine’s Day was the day I had my first mammogram.

I turned 40 last year, and during my annual physical exam, my physician recommended a mammogram and accompanying ultrasound.

I was…not excited…to schedule this screening appointment. Obviously, it sounded uncomfortable…and perhaps most of all, I struggled to accept that I had become old enough to need this kind of next-level health-care checkup.

I kept putting it off, putting it off.

Finally, I called the radiology center that my physician had recommended.

My original mammogram was scheduled for the Monday of Thanksgiving week. Around that time, I began a new work schedule. Plus, it was the holidays. The timing felt…difficult.

I called the radiology center, again. “Could you please help me reschedule my appointment?”

“Hmmm,” the receptionist said. “We have an opening for Wednesday morning, February 14…but that’s Valentine’s Day. Do you really want to come in on Valentine’s Day?”

I couldn’t help laughing. “My husband and I have been married for 15 years,” I said. “Valentine’s Day is not a big deal for us.”

My appointment was set, then: mammogram and ultrasound, 8 a.m., Wednesday, February 14—Valentine’s Day.

In 2023, the U.S. Preventive Services Task Force began recommending that women start getting mammograms beginning at age 40. Their previous recommendation had been age 50—although Steven Isakoff, M.D., Ph.D., with Mass General Cancer Center has said, “In the U.S. breast cancer treatment community, we’ve generally felt that it never should have changed from 40. So for us, this is back in line with what we’ve generally recommended.”

In addition to a mammogram, my physician also had recommended an accompanying ultrasound. The reason for the ultrasound, she explained to me, was that if a woman has dense breast tissue, then the mammogram may not be able to “see” through that tissue. The ultrasound, then, would help provide the medical team with a more complete picture of the breast tissue and any potential areas of concern.

Scheduling an ultrasound along with a mammogram also could decrease the need for a “call back.” Health Images notes that approximately 10 percent to 12 percent of women in the U.S. “will need further testing following a mammogram,” such as an ultrasound, MRI or redo of the mammogram—so it’s effective and efficient to do as much imaging as possible in one appointment.

In addition to a mammogram, my physician also had recommended an accompanying ultrasound.

The morning of my first mammogram, which also happened to be Valentine’s Day, I was…you know, “extremely stressed” best describes it.

As it turned out, Stanton needed to be in New York City that morning for a work meeting. He left our home around 5 a.m. to get there in time…which meant that I had to get both girls to their schools (two different buildings) by 7:30 a.m., on my own, in order to get to my mammogram appointment for 8 a.m.

I had never been to the radiology center, near downtown Albany, and those who know me know I strongly dislike driving out of my comfort zone, especially in busy downtown areas. Alternating one-way streets, parallel parking, stop-and-go traffic due to the mix of cars, buses and bikes…for me, this is S-T-R-E-S-S.

But I did it. I got the girls to school. I made it to the radiology center. There was a parking lot (no parallel parking necessary!), and I found a spot. I parked, breathed a sigh of relief…and headed inside.

Because it was so early, I was the only person in the waiting area of the radiology center. An older lady with round glasses and kind eyes, wearing a red sweater (in celebration of Valentine’s Day, I imagined), greeted me. Her name tag said “Hannah.”

I said I had an 8 a.m. appointment. Hannah reviewed my driver’s license and health insurance card. I mentioned this was my first mammogram.

“Oh, you’ll do just fine,” Hannah said, smiling at me.

I had been so stressed, friends, leading up to that moment—just taking care of all the logistics to get to that moment (making the appointment, rescheduling the appointment, letting my manager and co-workers know I’d be a little late getting in that morning, getting the girls to school, driving to an unfamiliar place…)—that Hannah, this woman I’d just met, was a gift to me…with her kindness, gentleness, reassurance.

“Thank you,” I said, feeling tears in my eyes.

…Hannah, this woman I’d just met, was a gift to me…with her kindness, gentleness, reassurance.

The actual mammogram itself was uncomfortable, but went fine. I wish I had Googled “mammogram machine” before I went, so that I knew what to expect. Here’s a good online resource, with an image of a mammogram machine, from the American Cancer Society.

The technologist who performed my mammogram was patient and professional, yet caring, with me.

“I’m kind of a squeamish person…as in, very,” I told her, as she explained how the mammogram machine worked. “I’m not going to be able to, like, look at what’s going on.” I was gagging just thinking about the plastic compression plates of the machine.

The technologist said no problem; she would let me know what to do so that she could get the X-rays she needed.

The mammogram took less than 10 minutes. Afterward, I went to a different room for the ultrasound.

Like the mammogram technologist, the ultrasound technician was wonderful. Once again, I mentioned that this was my first time getting a mammogram and breast ultrasound, and I was a little anxious.

The ultrasound technician told me she could use extra ultrasonic gel on the ultrasound wand, so that I wouldn’t feel it as much.

In that moment, it officially became my craziest, most medical, least romantic Valentine’s Day ever.

Still… “Yes, that makes sense,” I told the technician. “Extra ultrasonic gel…yep, sounds good.”

What I wanted to do after my appointment was go home and take a shower.

Instead, I had to go to work.

Least romantic Valentine’s Day ever.

About a week later, I got a letter in the mail, which began, “We are pleased to inform you that the results of your recent mammogram examination performed on 02/14/2024 are normal.”

I was very grateful, of course, for this good news.

I also am very grateful for the amazing women who made Valentine’s Day 2024 my most memorable Valentine’s Day yet. Least romantic, but most memorable.

My manager at the library was extremely understanding about my needing to come in to work a little late that day. Another co-worker encouraged me to take my time getting in; she would take care of things for me until I got there, she’d said.

Hannah, the receptionist at the radiology center, really touched my heart with her kindness. The mammogram technologist and ultrasound technician, both women as well, also treated me so well.

Later that day, when I went to pick Anna up from school, the other moms asked me how my appointment had gone—they listened, they cared.

Valentine’s Day means different things to different people.

This year, for me, it meant women’s health and female friendship.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

The Leddys Are in the Wrong Location

On Saturday morning, Stanton pulled into the mostly empty parking lot of the Afrim’s Sports Park in Colonie. It was 7:29 a.m., and our 9-year-old daughter, Anna, was playing in a Presidents’ Day weekend soccer tournament that began at 8 a.m.

“Please be there by 7:30,” Anna’s soccer coach had told the team.

Like anyone else, I’d rather not “be” anywhere by 7:30 on a Saturday morning. Except, of course, my breakfast-nook table, slowly enjoying several cups of coffee.

But I love watching Anna play soccer (and her older sister, Grace, play lacrosse), and cheering them on. So on Saturday, when Stanton nudged me awake around 6:15, I got moving much faster than usual for a weekend morning.

The four of us left our house a little after 7. Stanton punched “Afrim’s” into his car’s navigation system, and an address for NYSUT Drive in Latham popped up.

“Stan, that’s wrong,” I said. I hadn’t yet sipped any of the coffee from the travel mug in my hands, so no caffeine was tempering my just-woke-up personality. “Last night you said we have to go to the Afrim’s in Colonie.” (There are five Afrim’s sports facilities in New York’s Capital Region.)

Stanton grunted. “I know, I know. I was just about to change the address.” He began clicking on the navigation system.

“Are we going to the right place?” Anna asked from the backseat.

“Now we are,” I replied. “Don’t worry, honey: Mom made sure.”

“Mel, I was going to…”

“Honey, I was just kidding.”

“Ha, ha.” Stanton began driving to the Colonie Afrim’s; I began drinking my coffee.

Like anyone else, I’d rather not “be” anywhere by 7:30 on a Saturday morning.

So it was 7:30 a.m., and Stanton, the girls and I walked into the Colonie Afrim’s. Earlier, Stanton had printed out the flyer for the Presidents’ Day tournament, and now he looked at it. “Anna’s first game is on Field 2,” he said.

The four of us made our way to Field 2, one of several indoor fields in the facility. Anna’s team color is orange; there were no other orange jerseys on Field 2.

“Would you look at that,” Stanton said, smiling with self-satisfaction. “The Leddys are the first to arrive.”

Huh. I glanced at my phone. It was now 7:34 a.m.

It felt weird to me that we were the only people on Field 2. Not even the coach was here yet…?

“When you tell the Leddys to be somewhere by a certain time,” Stanton continued, “the Leddys will be there.”

By this point, I had consumed about one-quarter of the coffee in my 20-ounce travel mug. I had become, consequently, a normal human being. “Stan,” I said gently, “is it possible we’re at the wrong Afrim’s?”

Stanton paused.

Behind us, Grace and Anna were kicking Anna’s soccer ball around. Otherwise, Field 2 remained empty—empty of other orange jerseys, empty of the opposing team, empty of spectators and refs and anyone.

“Uh…” Stanton frowned. “I’ll be right back.”

I watched as he jogged across Field 2, through the revolving doors to the lobby of the facility.

Less than a minute later, Stanton reappeared through the revolving doors, this time in a sprint back to the girls and me. “We have to go,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows; Stanton nodded. “We’re at the wrong Afrim’s,” he confirmed.

Mm-hmm—looking at empty Field 2, that made more sense to me than “The Leddys are the first to arrive.”

The Leddys were, in fact, in the wrong location.

The soccer tournament was actually happening at the Afrim’s location in Albany, which was only 3.2 miles away. We were really close—but still, Anna would be arriving minutes before the first game started.

“Agh,” Stanton said, driving toward the Albany Afrim’s.

I could tell Anna was concerned too. “Stan, Annie, this is 9-year-old soccer,” I pointed out. “It’s OK.”

“You know,” Stanton said, “I checked the message in the sports app last night. It said the Colonie Afrim’s. But…”

“But what?” Anna wondered.

Stanton grunted. “I just checked the sports app a few minutes ago, and Brittany posted a new message super early this morning—which I saw just now—that had the updated location, Albany Afrim’s. It would be nice to have all the information at the same time, you know?”

“No, no, no.” I held up my hands. “No, we cannot blame Brittany that we went to the wrong Afrim’s this morning.”

“Why not?” Grace asked.

I sighed. As many of you know, I’m the (volunteer) secretary for Anna’s elementary school PTA. Thus, I empathize with parent volunteers, many of whom find themselves in these roles because nobody else could (or would) lend a hand.

I explained to my family that Brittany did the best she could to communicate with other parents through the sports app. At some point, the other parents needed to turn on the app notifications so that they would see when Brittany posted a new message. They needed to check their new messages, and beyond that, read the messages.

“I should have checked the app for any new messages once more before we left,” Stanton acknowledged.

“But we’re almost to the right Afrim’s,” I said. “No big deal.”

Maybe the Leddys don’t always arrive at the correct location.

Maybe Melissa Leddy isn’t a normal human being until she drinks one-quarter of the coffee in her 20-ounce travel mug.

But the Leddys do not blame the parent volunteers of their children’s sports teams or schools.

Stanton pulled up to the entrance of the Albany Afrim’s. It was almost 8 a.m., and of course, the parking lot was packed.

I swiveled in the passenger seat to face my older daughter. “Please take Anna inside,” I told Grace. “Find her team—look for the orange jerseys—and Dad and I will be there in a few minutes.”

Grace nodded. “Got it.”

I wished Anna good luck, and watched as the girls dashed inside.

Stanton found a parking spot. We headed inside, in search of orange jerseys.

As of 8:02 a.m., all four Leddys had arrived at the right location.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

You’re 0% There

It was 12 noon at the library where I work. Our library often has a lunch rush, as patrons pop in to pick up their requested books and other items during their lunch break.

On this particular day, 12 noon was when the 2024/2025 online registration opened for my younger daughter’s before-school child-care program. We were only midway through the current school year (it was January, after all), but I needed to sign Anna up for the fall.

At that moment, I was working at the circulation desk, near the front doors of the library. I could get up and go to my desk in the staff workroom, out of public view…but the online registration would only take a minute, right?

On my computer, I minimized the screen for the library’s workflow system, and opened up a new tab with the website for the child-care program. I scrolled down, found the button for the 2024/2025 registration. Clicked the button, began filling out the form.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an older gentleman carrying a stack of large-print Clive Cussler novels begin to approach me. I glanced to my left, where my co-worker (who knew I needed a minute) kindly nodded, then waved the patron over to her.

Quickly, I re-checked all the info I had entered on Anna’s registration form. Everything looked accurate. Whew.

At the bottom of the form was a captcha fill-in-the-blank. “Please verify you are not a robot,” the captcha instructed.

Dutifully, I typed the motley crew of characters into the box. Made sure I got all the letters uppercase and lowercase where needed. Squinted hard to confirm that the the vertical line was indeed a lowercase “l” and not the number “1.”

Finally clicked “Submit.”

Instead of submitting, a new captcha appeared on the screen, with the same message: “Please verify you are not a robot.”

What? I just did that!

“Hey, Melissa.” Another co-worker joined us at the circulation desk, to assist with the lunch rush.

I cringe-smiled. “Hey, David. I’m so sorry, I just need to finish something for one of my kids…”

“Oh, sure, sure.” And as another patron approached, this time wanting to check out a children’s museum pass and American Girl Doll, David helped her at the computer next to mine.

Ugh. I prided myself on being a co-worker others could count on. I hastened to type in the new captcha: “HxChX.” I double-checked, even triple-checked the combination of uppercase and lowercase letters…clicked “submit,” again.

“ERROR,” the screen responded.

I groaned.

This was taking a lot longer than I’d thought, and I hadn’t even registered Anna for the child-care program yet…which I very much needed to do.

“I’ll be right back, David,” I said, dashing to the staff workroom. There I found Mandy, one of the kindest, most patient and most technologically savvy people I know. “Help!”

Together, Mandy and I tried to submit the registration through my phone. At the end of the phone-based registration, a new direction appeared: “Select all the boxes with school buses.”

Ah, another mode of automated-security-measure, photo-based fun.

Select, select, select. I definitely got all the school buses; Mandy nodded her agreement. Submit.

“Please verify you are not a robot,” my phone replied, presenting me with my third or fourth captcha in 30 minutes.

I almost banged my head on Mandy’s desk. “I am not a robot!”

Ah, another mode of automated-security-measure, photo-based fun.

Ultimately, I did succeed at registering Anna for the before-school child-care program. It took a few emails, one frantic phone call and a final stab at the online registration form, but in the end…success.

Technical difficulties, though. They’re never gone for long, amirite? I ran into another e-issue yesterday, and Anna, who’s 9, helped me figure it out.

As you may remember, friends, I’m the secretary of Anna’s elementary school PTA. (Trust me, I’m not bragging about this—simply stating a fact. 😉 )

Yesterday, my fellow PTA board members asked me to share a flyer via our mass email platform, plus community Facebook page. Of course, I told them.

I couldn’t upload this flyer to either Mailchimp or Facebook, however.

Anna saw me struggling. “When was the last time you restarted your computer, Mom?”

“Umm…” I rarely turn off my computer, let alone restart it.

“Restart your computer, Mom,” Anna suggested. “That always works for me.”

As I restarted my computer, a pop-up message alerted me: “Urgent updates needed. Updating now.”

Anna made herself comfortable on my lap. “Urgent updates needed,” she read aloud. “Good thing you’re doing this, Mom.”

I sighed. “Yep.”

Anna pointed to the screen. “Look, Mom. You’re 0% there.” She tilted her head up, looked at me. “It’s probably going to take a while to get all the way up to 100% updated.”

You’re 0% there… Going to take a while… Mm-hmm, that sounded about right.

These past few weeks have been some of my busiest as PTA secretary. Our PTA has hosted a variety of events, from a Scholastic Book Fair to Math and Science Night to Popcorn Friday, and is planning for a bunch more come spring: a science fair, Bike & Roll to School Day, an art-based fundraiser/bake sale.

We need volunteers to help staff all these events, as you probably can imagine. Thus, I emailed out multiple SignUpGenius links, inviting/asking/begging fellow parents to sign up for a one- or two-hour time slot.

Every now and then, I checked the SignUpGenius links. “Slots still available,” all the links told me.

Sigh. What kind of de facto volunteer coordinator would I be if I didn’t show up myself?

I clicked a “Sign Up” book fair slot. Entered my name.

I clicked a “Sign Up” Math and Science Night slot. Entered my name, again. Ooh, hold up…that slot is to run Math and Science Night. Agh. I’m not the best math and science person, so…

In the optional comment box, I added this note: “My older daughter (Grace, 6th grade) will help me run this!”

I do love both my daughters’ schools, and I do want to support them (the schools, and the girls). I genuinely loved being able to volunteer with the book fair, and Math and Science Night.

Afterward, I did feel a little worn down, though.

This past weekend, for the first time in many weekends, Stanton, the girls and I had nothing scheduled. Nothing we had to do.

I so appreciated sleeping in on both Saturday and Sunday mornings. Both mornings, Stanton made me scrambled eggs and bacon.

Stanton’s known me a very long time now, and he knows this is true: All he needs to do to make me happy is feed me. That is it, friends. Just feed me (and let me sleep in).

After eating well, and sleeping in, I’m beginning to feel recharged.

I’m not quite up to 100 percent, but I’m definitely higher than 0.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

You’re On the Wrong Input, Mom

Yesterday evening, I brought my younger daughter to her indoor soccer practice.

I did this after picking up my older daughter and her best friend from their after-school Odyssey of the Mind program, and then dropping the best friend off at her house. Beforehand, I’d heated up some leftover pasta and put it into a take-along container for Grace, because Grace and I would be waiting at the sports complex until Anna’s soccer practice wrapped up at 6:45 p.m.

Thursday is usually a hectic day, but yesterday was particularly hectic because Stanton had a work event until 8 p.m. or so, and I needed to log into a 7 p.m. virtual meeting (school-related).

I had a small but manageable window of 15 minutes to get the girls and me from the sports complex back home for my 7 p.m. meeting.

At 6:30 p.m., I got up from the table where Grace and I had been hanging out for the past hour (Grace doing homework, myself wasting time on TMZ and E! News 😉 ). Nature called.

I strode over to the women’s restroom. A white sign had been Scotch-taped to the door.

The sign read: “Bathroom closed due to flooding. Please use Porta Potties outside.”

What?!

I checked the men’s restroom. The same sign had been Scotch-taped to that door too.

“Please use Porta Potties outside.” Um, it’s nighttime, and it’s January. True, it’s not snowing, just raining (hence the restroom flooding, I imagined)…but it’s still cold out there, sports complex manager.

Cold and dark, might I add.

Please use Porta Potties outside? I don’t think so.

Please use Porta Potties outside? Not an option, friends. Not an option.

Um, it’s nighttime, and it’s January.

As I went about my day today (Friday), I couldn’t help thinking that the “Please use Porta Potties outside” sign pretty much perfectly epitomizes this past week for me. So much has been happening, and I’m so thankful it’s the weekend.

One of my colleagues at the library had asked me to work this past Saturday for her (and she’ll work an upcoming Saturday for me). Switching Saturday shifts can be tricky for me, because of the girls’ activities, but this woman has been so kind to me, so of course I told her yes.

“Mom,” the girls said to me. “You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.”

“Girls,” I said back. If someone’s been a friend to you, you should be a friend back when they need you. This is what I believe, anyway.

The weekend was a bit of a blur. Work on Saturday, cheering Grace on at her last “Shrek” performance on Sunday, getting ready for the week ahead.

I had ordered some new clothes for myself, online of course. On Wednesday morning after showering, at approximately 6:30, I pulled on a pair of my new pants, looked at myself in the mirror and—like 40-something women everywhere who buy a pair of pants online—said out loud, “Do these look OK?”

I couldn’t decide.

Anna told me they seemed shiny. Translation: She didn’t like them.

Grace raised her eyebrows but had no comment, then wondered if I could make her lunch.

Stanton was out of town for work.

Agh. I would just wear the new pants.

Once I got to work, I confided in two of my female co-workers that I wasn’t sure about my new pants.

“You look fine, Melissa,” they assured me.

Although today (Friday), I wore a different pair of new pants to work, which I also felt unsure about, and another female co-worker said, “You look like a genie!”

(Thanks, Allison! 😉 )

On one of the evenings Stanton wasn’t home this week, all I wanted to do after the girls had gone to bed was sit on the couch with some junk food and watch TV. That was all, friends.

I turned on the TV. “No signal,” the screen said.

I clicked various buttons on the remote control(s).

Nothing worked.

I briefly considered waking up Grace, who’s her father’s daughter when it comes to problem solving.

No, that wouldn’t be kind.

Agh.

In the morning, I told the girls what had happened.

“You were probably on the wrong input, Mom,” Grace said.

“No,” I replied. “I tried all the inputs. Nothing worked.”

Anna shook her head, skeptical. “I don’t know, Mom,” she said. “I think you were on the wrong input too.”

You know what, friends? Maybe I was. For all I know, I was on the wrong input.

Sometimes you are, I guess.

(TGIF!)

❤

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

Is There a YouTube Tutorial for That?

It was a Friday night, and Stanton and I were having the typical Friday night of a 40-something, married-15-years couple with two school-age kids.

Were we sitting at a table for two at the new local restaurant we’ve been wanting to try, sharing tapas and intimate conversation?

Uh-uh.

Perhaps we were preparing a delicious at-home dinner together, adorably tag-teaming in our own kitchen, a bottle of red aerating on the counter while nearby, Grace and Anna played one of their new Christmas-present board games?

Nope; try again.

It was a Friday night, and Stanton was watching a YouTube video on “how to French braid, step by step for beginners.”

I, on the other hand, had emergency-FaceTimed my sister, with questions regarding liquid eyeliner and blush brushes.

Meanwhile, Grace observed the two of us, her mom and dad, with an expression of increasingly diminishing confidence.

In the fall, Grace had tried out for her middle school’s musical, and got a spot in the ensemble. Now, it was the night before the first dress rehearsal of “Shrek The Musical JR.,” and we were reviewing Grace’s hair and makeup requirements, which included French braids and stage makeup.

“Mom…”

“I’m sorry, honey, I never learned how to French braid,” I said. I glanced at Stanton, who was frowning at his phone in total concentration. My husband looked Situation Room-ready. “But Dad is very good at following directions. He’ll figure this out.”

“What about my makeup?”

Agh. I rarely wear makeup, let alone stage makeup, but was taking detailed notes from my sister. “I’ll figure it out too.”

Grace continued to look…unconvinced.

My husband looked Situation Room-ready.

My daughters are now 12 and almost-9. During this season in my parenting experience, the main challenges for me are mostly logistics-related—getting Grace to “Shrek” rehearsals on time, while doing the same for Anna and her twice-weekly soccer practices (and two other after-school activities). I recognize we could cut back on some of these commitments, but the girls truly love what they’re involved in.

Some of these activities, interestingly, include a “parent volunteer requirement.” (Sounds low-level threatening, amirite?)

😉

A recent parent volunteer requirement found me on the publicity committee for “Shrek.” In this role, I spread the word about the musical via social media, took pictures at the first dress rehearsal (yes, Stanton figured out French braids in time!), and hung up “Shrek” flyers around our community.

For an entire week, I kept stacks of these lime-green flyers in my tote bag, along with Scotch tape. Wherever I went (local restaurants, shops, grocery stores, etc.), I asked employees if I could hang up my flyer, on behalf of my older daughter’s middle school. I ended each plea with, “And I brought my own Scotch tape!”

One day, I went to work, grabbed a quick lunch at Perfect Blend, and then hustled to the middle school to pick up Grace a little early, for an appointment.

In the waiting room, I opened my bag and saw, of course, the lime-green flyers.

“Huh,” I said, looking around. “Does this place have a community board?”

“Mom!” Grace’s eyes bugged out. “Please don’t ask anyone here about ‘Shrek.'”

OK, Grace, OK. (Even though I have my own Scotch tape…)

I feel a lot of gratitude for this season in my life. The days feel very full, but all the pieces seem to fit (at last!).

Piecing everything together—work schedules, family commitments, all the running around that comes with life—takes a little time sometimes.

A little time, and a YouTube tutorial or two.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.

Do You Have Everything You Need?

The other evening, my 8-year-old daughter tugged on a pair of black-and-white soccer socks.

“Did you put your shin guards on?” I asked.

“Yes, but can you fill up my water bottle while I tie my shoes?”

I pointed to Anna’s backpack, lying beside her on the breakfast-nook floor. “Honey, your water bottle’s right there, and it’s full.”

Anna sighed. “Mom, that’s my school water bottle…”

“Agh, fine.” Now I sighed, and grabbed a green Gatorade water bottle from the kitchen counter.

This was Anna’s soccer water bottle, because it’s the same as the ones she sees NFL players use in all the Sunday Night Football games she watches alongside Stanton and Grace all fall and winter long.

The green Gatorade water bottle now full, I checked on Anna’s progress with her shoes. Everything laced up—good.

“Where’s your soccer ball?” I asked.

Anna pointed to the back porch.

“OK, so do you have everything you need?”

Anna did; we headed out.

Before I brought Anna to her soccer practice, we swung by the middle school to pick up Grace and her best friend from an after-school activity. Then I dropped the friend at her house, and brought Grace back home.

All of these places are within a few miles of one another, so no problemo.

Water-bottle preferences aside, I genuinely enjoy giving my daughters (and their friends) rides when they need them. In-the-car chitchat tends to be quick but fun, and hopefully building blocks for deeper conversations down the road (pun intended 😉 ).

In-the-car chitchat tends to be quick but fun, and hopefully building blocks for deeper conversations down the road (pun intended 😉 ).

Like everyone else, I’ve been fairly busy lately—work, family, holidays. I’ve felt very full, though. Like, I get to do this.

The Friday evening after Thanksgiving, I had the real joy of making dinner for Stanton’s older brother and his family, plus their mom (my mother-in-law). They were all visiting with us from out of town.

As much fun as I knew they all had had on their travels, I thought it would be restful and welcoming to prepare a meal we could share in our home, where the kids could play after they finished.

This is what I did, then, cooking a baked penne dish and reheating Thanksgiving leftovers too.

We sat around the family-heirloom dining table that Stanton and his brother’s grandparents had gifted us, and stayed chatting even after we’d finished eating. (Meanwhile, the kids played upstairs—I’m not sure exactly what they were doing, but it sounded like they were having fun.)

My brother-in-law thanked me for the home-cooked meal, while my mother- and sister-in-law expressed concern that it had been too much trouble. There were quite a few dishes stacked up alongside the sink, but I truly loved cooking for all of them.

For me—and probably for many of us, across time and space—feeding someone is an act of caring, of love. And to have loved ones to gather with, to share a meal with—to me, that’s a gift.

What a gift.

After all the Thanksgiving-holiday fun, I did loads and loads of laundry. I dashed to the grocery store and restocked our kitchen with everything we needed. Later that week was Staff Development Day at the library, and—among other agenda items—I learned how to use my workplace’s new AED machine.

“Wow, Mom,” Anna exclaimed. “You can save someone’s life!”

“Yes, I’m basically a doctor now,” I joked.

Grace joined the conversation: “No, you’re not, Mom.”

No, I’m not.

😉

Standing there in the kitchen with my daughters, with the refrigerator and cupboards full of food again, and Stanton on his way home from work so that we all could watch “Elf” for our family movie night and a relaxing weekend ahead of us…despite official M.D. credentials, I had everything I needed.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Like what you just read? Then check out Melissa Leddy’s e-books on Amazon.com. Short fiction and creative nonfiction writing that’s engaging, witty and from the heart.